


Bite Your Tongue

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Crack, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1676123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pharma told Ambulon he had a "petulant mouth." Ambulon shows him it's not so bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bite Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rothinsel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothinsel/gifts).



> Dla ciebie, moja droga. <3
> 
> [Tumblr link](http://captainbaneberry.tumblr.com/post/86570454363/bite-your-tongue-1380-words-by-baneberry-ao3): because a reblog is always appreciated! （●>ω・）ﾉ

Pharma once told Ambulon he had "a petulant mouth" and his tongue should be used for "better, more important things."

This had been during an argument--one of a few. Ambulon was usually okay rolling with the punches; usually trusted Pharma's decisions. Though on the rare occasion--mostly when it came to Decepticon patients or Decepticons in general--Ambulon was vocal and quick to step up and state his opinion. His tone was curt but respectful; nothing too defiant, but definitely demanding to be heard.

The argument lasted only a few minutes before Pharma told him to shut his mouth and use all that argumentative energy on organizing the new shipment of supplies. Ambulon frowned, optic ridges furrowing; his yellow optics turned a shade darker. He almost looked as if he were going to verbally assault the CMO again, maybe even attack him, but a minute later:

"Would you like to see them put to better use, then?"

It took Pharma a minute to understand what Ambulon meant. Oh, right--the mouth and tongue thing. Pharma smirked; that shit-eating, holier-than-thou, "I have fifty thousand plaques and trophies on my excellence in my suite, not to mention the numerous ones decorating my office, you do remember those, right? Of course you do~" grin. "Why, Ambulon," he teased like the stupid snake he was, "that almost sounds _threatening_."

Ambulon's fierce expression easily turned into something aloof, almost... unimpressed. "I'm sorry if I scared you, Pharma," he said, and one of the jet's wings visibly twitched, "but it was more an offer than a threat."

Pharma snorted. "Oh, really?" He folded his arms over his chest, blue fingers tapping against white plating. "Fortunately, I've the time to spare to humor you." That grin was sharper now. "Show me what you've got, defector."

Well, three minutes, one closet room, and two broken vials of disinfectant later, Pharma was somewhat beginning to regret his decision.

Oh, not that he disliked it, but... This wasn't exactly what he had in mind. You know, Ambulon yanking him into the closet, shoving him against the door, then going down on him with little to no warning. And Pharma had still been a little amused at the time; obliged the warden by opening his panel, because, haha, seriously? How is _this_ anything to brag about--?

Then, Ambulon's mouth and tongue went to "better use."

Pharma choked on his gasp, hand flying to his mouth. His optics nearly popped from his damn skull. Ambulon's technique was sloppy, but it was... perfect. Nice, messy, rough. And, so, no--okay, no-- It wasn't regret. It was more disappointment--in himself. He obviously underestimated Ambulon. But Goddamn if he was going to admit it.

Or show any signs of weakness.

That meant body language. Noises. Anything that would give him away. Ambulon had his arms around his legs, fingers digging into his thighs; hoisting him up, just a little. He traced circles around the outer lining of the port before thrusting his tongue inside. Pharma grit his teeth, forcing down another small cry. Those fingers on his thighs started to massage, pressing down harder, the dermal plating slowly caving to the pressure, and no, no, Pharma wasn't going to cave. Not at all.

Pharma's head hit the back of the door with a loud _thunk_ as the tongue worked his ceiling node. Every few seconds drawing down to lap and stroke the slick lining and mesh. Pharma refused to pressurize himself, even though oh, God, did he really need to. No, he did not--focus on re-routing all sensors into his port. No need for the cord. But with the increase sensitivity-- The CMO whimpered, but fortunately too quiet for Ambulon to hear.

Pharma's hands flexed at the door, fingers twitching open and closed against his palms. They fisted every time Ambulon hit that ceiling node--a fifth time, and Pharma cursed as joints locked up in three of his digits from squeezing too hard. He might have just grabbed Ambulon's head--might have rested his hands there, or even manipulated the former Decepticon's movements. But that would be giving in--and Pharma wasn't going to lose this battle.

Mayb--

NO. _No, he was not_.

Pharma pressed a hand back over his mouth, again, right before he could gasp. His backstrut curved, and he tried not to notice that he was, maybe, perhaps, just a little, grinding his pelvis into Ambulon's mouth like a needy whore. No, not whore. A needy...

A needy...

...

With a deep-throated growl, Pharma bit into the side of his hand. Bit and nearly chewed the damn thing. Shit, this was getting harder and harder. He was wiggling now, but Ambulon wasn't stopping to gloat. He continued working that hurricane tongue like this was a serious, life-threatening operation--that he'd preformed numerous times.

Pharma shut his optics, squeezed until he saw stars. His optic nerves stung. A finger slipped into his mouth, rolling between his teeth. No, no, he was--

The jet's optics snapped open with alarm and confusion. It-- Ambulon had stopped in between a few seconds to mutter something. The words vibrating against his port. It was-- Pharma recognized the dialect, a few of the syllables, was--

Did--

_Did Ambulon just speak to him in Decepticon?_

A sudden pulse of rage rushed through Pharma's spark. But he... didn't complain. He invented sharply, and went back to biting his tongue, moans dying in his throat.

When Pharma's mind was no longer a swirling mess of fuck, he'd realize Ambulon had been showing off. Teasing him. Speaking Decepticon to Pharma, Ambulon might as well have just insulted him in a string of nasty profanities. It was offensive, infuriating; Ambulon knew that. And by the way Pharma wasn't even able to tell him to shut up--just two words, that's all it would take--he knew he'd won.

But, as of right now, Pharma's mind was still a swirling mess of fuck.

His vents hitched. He tried not to cry. Tried really, really hard. Ambulon was working faster, now, with less skill. Didn't need it when Pharma was so close to overloading. But as Pharma came (heh) closer and closer to the edge-- Welp. He'd lost. Pharma whimpered, loudly, gasped, loudly, sunk forward moaning, loudly, clutching Ambulon's helm tightly, almost possessively, with shaking hands. And he keened, even more loudly, when he came, overload shooting through his chassis like a bolt of lightning.

Pharma settled a minute later, most of his weight against the door. He panted, heavily, fans whirring and cycling air. A lone string of coolant dribbled down his chin from his gaping mouth, optics hooded and dim. He dropped the back of one hand to his chevron; the plating was hot, and he couldn't stop shaking.

And with only a slight, maybe mildly _inconvenienced_ huff, Ambulon sat back on his knees. He raised his hand, meeting his glassy, yellow reflection in Pharma's somewhat steamed-up cockpit glass. He casually wiped the transfluid from the corners of his mouth, swallowing the rest. Satisfied, he stood, and Pharma grunted as he slipped a little, bracing all his dwindling strength completely on the door now.

Ambulon went to the sink, cleaned himself up; gargled liquid from the sink, spit it out crudely, and Pharma winced. So unclassy. Ambulon turned, picking up a nearby rag. He looked his boss over, offered simply, "Need h--?"

"No," Pharma growled. He straightened up a minute later, sniffed, head held high. "I do... I do not." Appeared completely composed. But the moment he stepped away from the door, his legs turned to jello and he fell crashing to the ground in a very undignified mess. He scowled, propping himself up on one elbow.

"You know, I'd offer to help you up--"

And Pharma went to tell him to back off--

"--But I know you'll insist otherwise," Ambulon finished before Pharma could speak. The CMO glared up at him. Ambulon smiled--the fucker was smiling. "I'll clock you in in five kliks, Pharma. Don't be late."

Pharma went to speak, again, but Ambulon quickly dropped the rag in his face and left.

Pharma would clock back in under four minutes, so Ambulon lost that bet... or whatever. But he wouldn't regain proper mobility for another six hours.


End file.
